The Sweet Purity of Apples
by Keelywolfe
Summary: *SLASH* Eh, we've all had that younger tagalong following us around at least once in our lives, haven't we? Set far before LOTR, Pippin and Merry aren't quite best friends yet.


Title: The Sweet Purity of Apples   
By Keelywolfe  
Pairing: Merry/Pippin  
Rated: PG  
  
Disclaimer: The Tolkien gave us Hobbits, although I doubt he intended  
them for this use. Merry and Pippin belong to The Tolkien, and not to me,   
which is just as well because they never would have gotten out of bed if  
they were mine, much less travelled with the Fellowship, and the only   
Crack of Doom they would have known about might belong to the Shire   
Rotorooter Hobbit.  
  
Summary: Eh, we've all had that younger tagalong following us around at   
least once in our lives, haven't we? Set far before LOTR, Pippin and   
Merry aren't quite best friends yet.   
  
Notes: This is a SLASH story, as in two guys liking each other in a sexual  
fashion. Don't like that? Then spare me the flames and don't read it.   
  
***  
  
  
It was a lazy day in the Shire, the kind that only come in the   
summertime when it's too hot to do much of anything useful, too early   
to begin harvesting any of the slowly ripening crops and much too   
lovely a day to be spent inside. Most of the hobbit children were   
laughing and playing out in the fields while their parents watched   
indulgently from the cool shade.   
  
Further up the hillside, and away from all the ruckus, Merry Brandybuck   
was laying almost hidden amongst the nodding grasses and wildflowers,   
nearly drowsing from the warmth of the Sun as he sketched idly on a   
scrap of parchment with a piece of charcoal.  
  
It wasn't that he didn't like his family, far from it, but sometimes he   
simply wanted a little quiet and he'd be more likely to find an Elf   
hiding beneath his bed than to find silence in Brandy Hall.   
  
He'd thought that today he might actually have found a place to hide   
safely for a time, but the sound of someone wading through the sea of   
grasses towards him warned him that his privacy was about to be   
invaded.   
  
A pair of feet appeared at his elbow, and Merry raised his eyes warily   
to see his younger cousin Pippin standing over him, crunching rather   
noisily on an apple.   
  
Merry sighed in exasperation. He was actually quite fond of Pippin, at   
least in comparison to most of his other cousins, but Pip didn't seem   
able to understand why anyone might wish to spend a bit of time alone.   
Merry suspected that if Pip would spend more time in Brandy Hall he   
would understand the notion right quickly.   
  
Deciding that perhaps if he ignored the younger Hobbit, he might wander   
off to find someone friendlier to spend the day with, Merry refocused   
his attention on his drawing.   
  
Pippin regarded him silently for a long moment but Merry should have   
known to wouldn't last. "What are you doing?" Pippin asked finally,   
catching a droplet of juice trailing down his arm with the tip of his   
tongue.  
  
"If you have to ask, I don't see why I should tell you," Merry replied   
coolly, refusing to look up.  
  
"What I mean is, what is that supposed to be?" Pippin clarified, trying   
to speak around a mouthful of fruit and Merry grimaced in disgust.  
  
"I'm drawing the millhouse right there." Merry gestured towards it with   
his free hand. "What did you think it was?"  
  
"If I could have told, I wouldn't have asked," Pippin said easily,   
dancing nimbly away from the slap Merry had aimed at his leg before   
flopping down next to him. He squinted at the millhouse and then at the   
paper, chewing thoughtfully.   
  
Merry managed to wait through a few moments of silence before he   
finally gave in. "What do you think?" he asked heavily, certain he'd   
regret asking.  
  
"I think you're ruining a perfectly good piece of parchment." Merry did   
hit him that time, and Pippin lost his grip on his apple. He picked it   
up by the stem and gazed mournfully at the dirt-encrusted flesh before   
tossing it aside, sighing, "Honestly, Merry, someone would think you   
are as blind as old farmer Grubb. Here."  
  
Before Merry could protest, Pippin had scrambled onto his back, one leg   
on either side of Merry's hips as he leaned over him. Merry grunted at   
the sudden added weight and one of Pippin's pointy little elbows dug   
into his shoulder, producing a remarkably sharp burst of pain.   
  
"Pip, what are you..." he halted mid-sentence when one of Pippin's hands   
wrapped around his own that was still holding the charcoal.   
  
"Like this, now." Pippin's hand guided his, sharpening the lines on the   
page. Merry watched at first, seeing a much clearer picture appearing   
but there always seemed to be something distracting him from seeing the   
means of it. There was the faintest touch of Pippin's breath, sweet and   
warm on the back of his neck, and Pippin's hand, still sticky with   
juice, cupped around his own.   
  
Merry swallowed hard, trying not to squirm under his cousin. As many   
times as he and Pippin wrestled and played together, it had never quite   
felt like this. Pip leaned up just a bit more, his hips rocking against   
Merry's backside and Merry quite abruptly forgot how to think. He   
hardly heard what Pippin was saying. All his focus was on the warm body   
pinning his own down and the ground no longer seemed a comfortable   
place to be, especially not in one particular place where both his and   
Pippin's weight were pressing down.   
  
Pippin dropped Merry's hand and out of the corner of his eye, Merry saw   
him raise his own to his mouth, his small pink tongue wetting the tip   
of his littlest finger before Pip artfully smudged a few lines on the   
paper into shadow.   
  
"There. Isn't that better?"  
  
"Better," Merry repeated numbly and Pip laughed brightly, knocking away   
what little breath Merry had left as he bounded to his feet.  
  
"Now, don't you go being jealous just because I draw better than you,"   
Pippin said, winking at him before sauntering away, hands in his   
pockets as he whistled a cheery little tune. Not until that little song   
had faded completely from his hearing could Merry turn his attention to   
the parchment.   
  
Pippin was a great deal better at drawing than him, Merry had to admit,   
turning his own nearly shapeless form into a fair portrait of the   
millhouse and once he might have been somewhat perturbed that Pippin   
had bested him.   
  
His hand still felt warm where Pippin's had rested and, without   
thinking, he brought it to his mouth and found his skin sweetly tainted   
with apple juice.   
  
The Sun was starting its downward arc in the sky and most of the other   
hobbits had begun venturing indoors to find supper. Climbing slowly to   
his feet, Merry carefully rolled up the parchment and tucked it inside   
his shirt. Later, he would place it in the small chest he kept under   
his bed with all his other treasures, and every time afterward he   
smelled apples he would remember that afternoon, and how very warm and   
heavy Pippin had felt, how his eyes had been bright and his smile   
sweet.   
  
But right then, all Merry wanted was a bite of supper.   
  
-finis- 


End file.
